


Lucid Ink

by orphan_account



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Alternate Universe - No Nen, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Far Future, Fluff, Gon is 19, Hisoka's not creepy, Injury, M/M, Meteor City | Ryuuseigai (Hunter X Hunter), POV Third Person, Soft Dom Hisoka, Somewhat kind Hisoka, Tags May Change, Violence, Weapons, Wholesome, deciding whether or not to include smut, i dont plan my stories lol, im sorry i cant write creepy hisoka, its all from the top of my head, might seem like killugon but i assure you it is not, smut?? yes?? no??????? i dont know!!, sorry for sloppy storylinr, this is supposed to be wholesome ugh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 'I see. Thank you for spending this short evening with me, I wish to hear you again.'It was a common send-off for charm writers, to encourage more business as charms were a little on the expensive side. But Gon meant it. The unfamiliar only looks at the note, but it communicates an alien sense of warmth."We'll see."~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~A feel good story about an apathetic assassin, who meets a muted charm writer.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Hisoka
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46





	1. An Amber-Orbed Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> My second fic! Please leave first impressions in the comments as I know whether or not to continue with the story.  
> Italics mean thought  
> Apostrophes surrounding italics mean written/read text  
> Bold and underlined lettering means emphasized voice

Gon was always gifted. His writings fascinated many, even inspiring some now-known authors to create globe-shaking stories. His name was small, but not unknown. He wasn't a household name, or the title you'd think of when you heard "celebrity," but he was still known to some extent. His skilled hands could even manifest stories from small scribbles, painfully realistic to fantasy full of wick and whimsy. As a child, he had an overactive imagination, able to create picturesque tales from the flick of an inked brush. Status-wise, he was weak. Others had the ability to create light, objects, weapons or even to enhance themselves. The strongest were given names to lead cities and continents, dubbed the League of Anons.

Such powerful title also held such responsibility, dozens of assassins and mercenaries digging to reveal their identities. Gon knew a few names, both his parents used to be part of the League, until their identities were leaked, assisted by their own son. As Gon had the ability to create world-ricketing stories, some became painfully real. A charm writer, they were called. People with skilled hands, used to write a dictionary of various symbols to specified people. Their power existed within those symbols, bringing specified luck, love, misfortune, and even death to names. This power though, grieved two heavy tolls. Charm writers were unable to speak, or restricted. They were able to laugh and cry quietly, their vocal chords astonishingly weak. The other, being their hands marketed in the dark. Charm writers' hands held power, even after death, making them nearly as valuable as Kurtas eyes. The charms written by detached hands were weak, only being able to perform small things like injuries instead of death.

Very few existed, about one out of 100 million. These people were big targets, commonly used by the League of Anons and power-hungry faces. Though, they were above death, everyone who had a part in the underground or the League each knew never to lay a harming finger to one, as heavy consequence lay for them regardless of their status. Power had ranking, easing from 0 to 9. Zeroes being the ungifted, or the dead, as power lay in the genes. Nines, being the League of Anons, and numerous others with high-held household names. 

Being a charm writer gave special privilege and insurance, a job guaranteed. Gon had an issued shop, selling remedies to curses like medicines, herbs, and teas, and guardians. Items possessed by the friendly dead that acted as guardian angels, though for a hefty price. With charm writer as a title, his close friend was able to communicate with the guardians. A soul communicator named Killua, able to read people's desires and will, along with overwriting them, with the help of Gon, of course. 

Now, our Gon sat alone in a room, kneeling on a pillow with a kotatsu in front. An empty pillow laid ahead. His eyes were covered with a blindfold, as the charms wouldn't work if seen by the author. In front, spread on the table, lay an inkwell, a vocabulary of brushes evenly spread out, and a narrow, rectangular slip of paper, specially blessed to hold the author's power. His friend Killua stayed at the storefront, helping customers with medicines and guardians, only occasionally bringing a customer to the back room, where Gon sat. A gentle knock rang out, his friend peeking in and constantly checking on him.

The street is busy, flashing billboards and restaurants left and right. Meteor City, a once broken and dysfunctional hellhole reshaped by the league to a sparkling utopia, famous restaurants and fashion stores left and right. Precious eyes study the streets, narrowing on a small shop to the left. _'Lucid Ink'_ it read, glowing with LEDs like all the other signs. _Perfect._ The eyes' beholder blends in, his unique, showy attire blending in with the rest, Meteor City being a showcase of odd beauty and power.

The shop is charming, populated with greenery adorning it's white walls. It's well lit, almost too bright. Gems like pearls and diamonds glisten in showcases, shrouded with the foggy luster that can only be a soul. On the sides, a long ever-expanding selection of precious herbs and leaves, specially combined to create teas and medicines like no others. They're tempting, able to hold power of ability enhancement, temporary intensified intelligence, and even different powers. For extremely heavy prices. Our visitor isn't here for those, instead for the famous charm writing. Killua's sitting in the back, behind a scanning table, talking to a soul.

The strangers long, black nails tap on the quartz surface, snapping the cat-eyed boy's attention and causing him to put away the emerald in a panic. Canary-tainted eyes stare hard into the boy's faint azures. 

"A specialized charm, if you're done talking with that **rock**." He folded his arms, tapping a finger on his elbow and glancing at the back door.

"Of course. This way." Killua takes a key out of the back pocket of his ripped jeans, unlocking the door and perking up Gon's attention. The stranger's almost too tall to walk through the door straight, having to duck a bit. Cat-eyes closes the door, "Take your time."

Fair lemon eyes study the room, lit by a box lamp on the far ceiling. The walls have jars of ink and stacked paper, and the back wall is decorated with drawers, containing brushes of all sizes and textures. The floor is rowed with dark wooden planks, an empty prussian blue pillow in front of a plain, black kotatsu. A boy sits across, eyes covered in black satin silk. His hair is barely differentiated from the silk, but tinted a dark green and messily thrown over the blindfold. He wears a loose, dark pine mock-necked crop top with lantern sleeves, hands on his lap.

The stranger goes to sit in front, and the teen puts on a warm smile. He's interesting, to say the least, as eyes are windows to the soul, his are curtained and fore, the stranger can't tell how he thinks.

"Good evening," The boy nods, "Would you write a death charm?" The writer's surprised, death charms are hard to be requested. The stranger spills a name, his voice as smooth and silky as his blindfold. 

Gon nods, hovering a soft, delicate hand over a variety of laid out brushes, finally grabbing a thin mink-fur brush. He dips it in a crimson ink, pausing over the paper before thought comes to mind. His left hand moves fast, but softly like a stream in a quaint forest. The brush finally leaves the paper, a sign left on the paper inexplainable by word. He pushes the paper towards the anonymous figure in front of him, but lets out a soft "Mm," signaling that he isn't done. He takes a plain brush, dips it in black, and writes on a spare piece of paper on the side.

_'What is it for?'_

Gon was born curious, adventurous by nature but preciously shielded by his parents as a valuable writer. The man stares down at the black ink, 

"I thought tellers would be quiet by nature," he stifles a smile, "I can't quite tell you. We've only met this evening." Gon pouts, but understands. A smile returns to his rosy lips, dipping the brush and writing something else down.

_'I see. Thank you for spending this short evening with me, I wish to hear you again.'_

It was a common send-off for charm writers, to encourage more business as charms were a little on the expensive side. But Gon meant it. The unfamiliar only looks at the note, but it communicates an alien sense of warmth.

"We'll see."


	2. Outskirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone sends Gon a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder!  
> Italics with apostrophes are written/read text!

" 'Think that's the last one." Kil's head popped into the doorframe, a happy customer walking off with a guardian sapphire, "You can take off the 'fold." Gon tugs at the back of the ribbon, the silk falling and revealing big, starry eyes. Gon whips out his phone, tapping furiously.

_'DIDYOUSEETHATGUY??????????'_

"Who?"

_'CHARM GUY!!!'_

"Gon, we have tons of people asking for charms, I have no idea what you mean," He places a hand on his waist, cocking his hips, "Can you describe him a little more?"

 _'Death charm!!'_

With Gon in the back for most of the day, Killua handles all transactions including paid charms, "Oh, him. I dunno, Gon, he creeps me out. Scary eyes. I'd stay away if I were you, looks a little sketchy."

The brown-eyed boys shoulders drop, an expression that can only say "Whaaa??" 

_'Did you get his number?'_

"Nope, pays in cash, no mail or card. Can you tone it down a bit? You're starting to act _reallyyyyy weirdddddd..._ " Gon rolls his eyes, putting his phone into the back pocket of his black, high-waisted shorts. The two start cleaning up the store, tainted with spilt spice and dropped guardians, who Kil has to hastily apologize to. Gon cleans his brushes, and wipes up spilt ink, before setting his papers, inks, and brushes to be ready after the weekend. He takes his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, locking the charm room and turning off all the lights before rushing to Killua, who's holding the door open for him. 

Evenings in the business district are always heavy and bustling with nighttime street performers and musicians, who Gon always likes to stop and watch. A mime show near the main plaza catches his eye, the perfect spot. The main plaza is always breathtaking, a meteor above a broken city carved into quartz, surrounded by dancing water and flashy lights. It sits in front of the Meteor City Office, which functions as an info and business center. Kil catches his friend by the shoulder, and pulls him away. Having a fold over your eyes for most of your life really deprives you of beauty, so Gon makes sure to experience it to the fullest. They jog into the lot, where their bike sits. As usual, Kil's the one to pedal, while Gon sits on the side and watches the city lights fade away, and turn into welcoming glows. Long roads branch from Meteor City's plaza, roads that stretch from the plaza to the border in one easy highway. It's easy to notice, the slow reduction of towering offices displaying commercials for sodas and makeup to smaller apartments. Growing up in a family of notorious assassins who request charms by the daily, scoring a luxury apartment close to the plaza and business district is easy. Beyond the residential ring, thrives a big, grassy field. The Outskirts.

Saturday mornings are for venturing out to the Outskirts and enjoying the fresh air. The city isn't stuffed with pollution, but the streets are always bustling and suffocating, the contradictory being a good therapy. Killua takes his motorcycle, as the Outskirts are way too far on bike. Gon holds onto a basket, packed with paper, pens, juice, and sandwiches. They reach an acceptable distance away from the city, and Gon hops off excitedly, running around in the bare plains and laying in the grass. The two never run out of things to talk about, from the complexity of life to why sandwiches are better than hot dogs. Sometimes, the boys venture far out, to where the forest meets the plains. Those are always a treat to run into, as lakes are bound to be nearby. They settle down next to a shallow river, kicking and splashing each other with the frigid water. An occasional fish swims through, in which Gon has to chase and get a good sketch of. These sometimes act as components in Gon's charm writing, a thin line curving up and to the right meaning serenity and peace, luck. And a thicker line, down and to the left, meaning misfortune and deception.

The sky grows orange, hazy yellow sinking through the sky like spilt ink on wet paper. A warning flare for them to get going. The outer skirts in the evening are dangerous, filled with gang fights and rivalry neither want to get caught up in. Gon spots two figures in the distance already dueling, making quite a show. The drives back are always a little fun, the adrenaline rushing in as the towering lights come closer. Both boys are already a little tuckered out, Gon a little more. He crashes into his room first, instantly passing out and leaving Killua with the job to properly tuck him in. To Gon, their relationship is just brotherly, almost reaching into intimate, but he's never thought about it. Killua, on the other hand, has already confessed. Of course, their relationship wavered to this, but later came back stronger. Kil's love is still the same, almost stronger, even after accepting that Gon wouldn't be his.

By the time Gon wakes up, Kil's gone to spend time with Alluka. He takes her shopping and out to eat, making up for lost time with his dear sister. Gon usually stays at home, watching TV and doing face-masks on days like these. Today he wants to get new supplies. He quickly throws on a baggy white sweatshirt and forest cargo pants, tying up his black combat boots and running out the door with a small bag slung over his shoulder. He takes Kil's bike, and treads out, waving to the people on morning jogs and walking their dogs. He waves to his friend Zushi, who's flipping the sign of his dojo to _'Open.'_ First, he stops at his favorite art shop in the more advanced branch of the business district. Of course, everything is pricey. He stops in front of the inks, valuable tones coming from local berries, to animal bloods sourced from places on the other half of the map. He settles on a shiny azure, just like Kils eyes. Maybe he'll write a special charm for his kin. His second stop, a high-end tailor and local fashion designer's. 

Gon's been looking forwards to getting a new blindfold, his black one is already nice, but he's tired of seeing the same color whenever he tries to open his eyes. The tailor's shows a long array of specially spun silk, and dyed with local inks. He's settled on either basil or currant, until another catches his eye. The amber shines, almost glowing. It's very captivating, Gon treading over to look at the golden silk. It's a gorgeous color, almost sunset orange like the evenings in the Outskirts. It practically mirrors the ink he uses to write misfortune charms, but it still tugs at Gon. He looks at the tag, the price at a number he couldn't even imagine.

_It'll take at least two more weeks full of charm writing to afford even just one._

He sighs, letting go of the luxury fabric and leaving the store. Someone's watching. Dandelion kissed eyes. He stares at the woven silk, it certainly is alluring, like the flame to a candle. Dangerous. He takes it off of the rack.

_This is only for the charm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The author's contemplating whether or not to write smut in *


	3. Loverboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon grows familiar with the stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember! Killua's power is reading desires and overwriting (With Gon's help)!

The streets are busy, late employees rushing to their jobs and hoping to avoid a scolding from their bosses, and early sightseers already looking around. Meteor City was a popular tourist spot, with breathtaking beaches and people, along with the unreal show of night fashion making it's rounds in the business district. _'Lucid Ink'_ was already open, customers bustling in for charms of luck, love, and fortune while others admired the guardian gemstones in their entire beauty. The gems loved attention. Kil was busy with the rush, it was the middle of a busy summer break anyways. Gon was never alone in the room, a constant flow of eager clients either wishing to do well in upcoming school, or to find love. A summer fling. Gon's wrist screamed in pain, having written hundreds of charms already.

Business finally slowed, the clock reaching close to 6. The charm room was practically empty, Gon sitting out and chatting with Kil while about three other customers wandered around. The blindfolded teen went back to his room, doodling blindly to pass the time. The door opened, _Another customer, another pain in the ass._ Honey-eyes was back, and holding a small bag. Today, he was here both on business errands, and personal reasons. A good excuse. The strange visitor always wore heels, thumping against the spruce planks. A golden earring dangled, glistening in the lights. He wore a tight black turtleneck, which outlined his chiseled figure, and white sweats, a club and a spade on each ankle. Kil's stomach twisted with each step the man made, something about him wasn't right. Cat-eyes had his head rested on his hand, drooping. He stared into the man, a heart of stone. It whispered "death," and "fear." He looked deeper, gold peeking out of the stone. Killua had never seen a heart like this, much less a desire. 

"When you're done checking me out, please do a favor and open up that room." He cleared his throat, Killua too deep into his soul reading. 

" _Shit!_ Right, sorry." He scrambled up to his feet, digging into his pocket and pulling out a key. _I was **not** checking him out!_

The door opens, Gon lifting his head. He's scribbling a koi onto the paper, like the ones he sees when they go out to the Outskirts. The man strides in quietly, taking a seat in front. He pushes his stack of drawings to the side, taking a piece of blessed paper and laying it in front of himself. On a spare, he scribbles,

_'How can I help you?'_

"We'll get to that in a bit." The smooth voice eases out, perking up Gon's ears. He beams, 

_'You're back!'_ If Gon had a tail, he'd be wagging it off.

"Mhm. I brought something, to pay for the last charm. I know death charms are hard to write." He picks up the bag, handing it to Gon. "You can take off your blindfold for now." He does such, pulling the black silk from his eyes and setting it aside. Gon has sparkling hazel eyes, and it's almost a shame to cover them most of the time. Gon's mystery visitor isn't what he expected. Red hair like an open flame, and dazzling amber eyes capable of stopping time with a single glance. His skin's pale, like a porcelain doll's, and his eyes are relaxed. Half lidded, but he doesn't seem tired. He's.. not bad looking, not at all. 

Gon digs into the bag, pulling a lovely honey tinted ribbon, radiating warmth. They seem similar to the mans, both gracing, yet sharp like a blade. Gon scribbles _'Thank you so much! But, I can't accept this.'_ He puts the ribbon back into the bag.

"And why not?" He cocks an eyebrow, a little irked that his gift was refused, the one time he even thinks to do something for someone other than himself.

 _'$$$ :('_

"Then how about I use it to pay for tonight?" Flame-head's fed, his lip twitching. The boy looks up, guiltily and writes another message.

_'Unfair! I don't even know your name! You can't just come up to someone and instantly become their sugar daddy. >:('_

_A sugar daddy? Is that what I look like to him?!_ He's on the edge of just giving up on his gift and leaving.

"I apologize. My name is Hisoka. And yours?" 

_'Gon Freecss. Don't you have a last name or anything?'_ Gon's brows furrow at the man sitting in front of him.

"I don't think we've reached that far just yet, Gon-kun. Unless I can borrow yours." Hisoka jokes, the teen caught off guard.

 _'Not what I meant!'_ He's embarrassed, his face blooming. _'I still can't accept this!'_ Gon pushes the attempted gift back. Hisoka sighs.

"Gon, I insist." He pushes the bag away, and the boy's hazel eyes linger on the gold peeking out. He lets out a *hmph.*

 _'Fine. I'm still gonna owe you back somehow.'_ He takes the ribbon, tying it around his head. It looks good on Gon, the merigold tone constrasting with the daunting dark of his hair. _'Happy?'_

"Very. Let's get back to what I'm initially here for. A death charm." Gon nods, taking a sable fur brush and dipping it in red. His hand flows just like it did before, yet creating a different design. He isn't done, dipping his red soiled brush into the black ink. Hisoka watches intently, like he's genuinely interested in what Gon does. A few more powerful strokes, a little ink flying out, and the brush is put down, resting on an inkwell. Gon navigates his workspace well, keeping the same workspace since the age of thirteen, when he first started his career as a side job. His pale, small hand pushes the slip forwards. The symbol looks aggressive, as if it's eating Hisoka up. _What fearsome power._

_'See you later?'_ Gon's smiling warmly, how could anyone in the right mind ditch the boy.

"Of course."

 _'Don't forget! I still owe you! No more getting me anything. ): <' _Hisoka can only sigh, but it's fair.

"Fine, I won't forget." He gets up, but pauses. "Thank you for the charm." He smiles, turning back to Gon. Of course, this isn't for him to see, this is for himself. The ecstatic kid just nods eagerly, grinning and waving a fast hand to him. Hisoka exits the room, Killua's already sitting there, not glaring but giving a judgy look. Hisoka smirks.

"I didn't do anything, calm down." Kil's stare doesn't give up, even after the transaction. Hisoka's heading towards the door, but turns around and gives Killua one more look. 

"See you later, _loverboy_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oHohhoho jealousyy; feedback is encouraged!


	4. Red Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blast from the past! A little peek into Gon's childhood. Their shop gets vandalized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobic and upsetting language to some readers. Including slurs and hate crimes. I put stars around the upsetting paragraphs, you're very welcome to skip those segments.

"Alluka called, she needs help moving. Is it fine if I leave you to clean up?"

Gon nods, this means he has time for himself. Gon's always liked being alone, given his own time to do his own things and wander the streets of Meteor City. He took his time cleaning up his drawings, scribbles of the gorgeous city, and the countryside surrounding. He so wished to go out on his own, but he knew it wasn't safe to be alone out there. The early of the nightgoers pooled into the plaza, neon lights flickering on and street performers preparing their sets. A certain performer caught his eye, a man who could conjure images by pulling the smoke from his pipe into things like frolicking rabbits and wolves chasing around. Another, a woman who could enhance her body and twist herself into shapes. To the fashion, too, a man who had a floating left arm, an erratic woman whose eyes were shielded by a pair of mirrored glasses. Another charm writer. She was rather extravagant, wearing a big poofy dress and hauling a big umbrella over her and her stone-faced companion. A puppeteer, silver-spun string hanging from her gloved hands. Something else caught his eye, a magician. He was able to detach limbs from other people, rearranging them while leaving them unharmed. A level 8 power, so well controlled, too. 

Gon reached the subway, bustling with new visitors pulled by Meteor City's absorbing visuals. He remembered taking this subway with his mother, as a young child. He remembered marveling at the lights, falling in love with his now-called home. Nostalgia filled the tunnels of the subway, holding his mother's warm hand as he struggled going up the steps, and falling asleep by her side heading home. He was alone, now. Loneliness crept into the hole where his parents used to be, something even Killua couldn't heal. He purely remembers the feeling of the brush in his hand, quaking as he wrote an intelligence charm. The blue, striking ink carving a path into the pale paper, the big, shadowy black eyes watching every move. He'll never forget those few moments, darting, yet life-twisting. He stares out the window across from him, familiar lights zooming by, then at his own reflection. He loathes himself, killing off the only people who he held close. A chime rang out.

"Residential district." A soft voice called over the speakers, that was Gon's cue.

He got up, stepping through the sliding doors and out into the fresh air. Zushi's dojo was nearby, but he was probably busy. Crows called out, perching on the ledges of buildings. Gon trudged home, collapsing on the soft, familiar couch. He dug into his bag, pulling out the soft, golden ribbon. Gon traced his fingers over the weaves and patterns, he liked the way it slipped through his fingers. It swayed like a flame, hypnotic. He remembered the face that gave this gift. The same riveting eyes, the ones that screamed caution. _Hisoka._ Graceful and hazardous, long pointed nails that could enrapture, or ruin. His ethereal, snowy skin, almost otherworldly. Gon had never experienced attraction, rather focused on his work than the dozens of letters shoved into his mailbox during highschool. Hisoka was interesting, his name like an omen, warning.

*

It's a cold monday morning, the two boys frozen in front of their shop. The sign cracked, red paint splattered on the front windows. _'Killer,' 'Mute fag,' 'Cripple,' Weakling.'_ Glass is shattered, and it's clearly a mess inside of the shop. Kils eyes move to his friend, leaking tears.

*

"Oh, Gon.." He wraps his arms around his sobbing friend, embracing tightly, "I'll find who did this to you, okay? I'll clean it up, I'll fix everything for you. Please don't cry.. Please." His voice breaks, tears threatening to leave. Gon makes small sniffs, hugging his friend back. "Go home, okay? Go rest yourself up." Gon reaches into his jacket pocket, typing something.

_'I don't want to leave you alone.'_

"Gon, I'll be alright," He pulls back, wiping Gon's tears, "I can do this, you're the one hurting." Gon reluctantly nods, holding his arms and walking to the subway. The door panes are shattered, the door swinging ajar. Guardians are in a panic, consoling the others as they're scattered all over the floor, broken out of their glass cases. Kil picks them up slowly, whispering to them. He doesn't get anything from them, their assaulters masked. He wanders deeper, the cash register clearly hit, a heavy dent to the side. The charm room. The door shows burn marks, another slur scribbled across. The room is no better, burnt paper still sparking and spilt ink on the walls. The brushes are scattered all over the floor, accented with spilt feathers from ripped pillows. It's an absolute wreck, nealy past fixable.

Gon's wrapped in a blanket on the couch, sipping hot cocoa between shaky breaths. A knock rings out from the door, catching him off guard. He drags himself off the couch, blanket huddled around his shoulders. It's Zushi, easily recognizable by his buzz cut. He opens the door, Zushi's holding a plain plastic bag.

"Hey, Gon. I heard what happened." Gon nods, looking away. "I'm so sorry." Zushi hugs Gon tightly, almost suffocating. "Can I come in? Or should I just leave this here?" He holds up the bag. Gon tilts his head behind him, letting Zushi in. The bag looks heavy, and his strong friend drops it on the kitchen island. He digs inside, pulling out a stuffed bear and a pack of mini cupcakes. Gon's eyes light up. He's always loved sweets, from candy apples at the plaza to sweet teas in the Outskirts. It's not enough for Zushi to heal his friend, but it's a good start.

"Just came to drop these off. I need to open the dojo in a few minutes," he goes to his friend, "don't worry. Once Killua finds those people, they're gonna get **smoked**." He grins at the last word, patting and ruffling Gon's messy hair. "I'll come back later! See you!" Zushi waves, Gon waving back. He closes the door, leaving Gon alone yet again.

Kil's on the phone, phoning the Meteor City department and reporting the hate incident. His back is turned to the windows, someone's watching. He put a hand on the tampered, painted glass, long nails clinking. Eagle eyes narrow behind dark shades, and thin brows furrow. His hand leaves the glass, pushing up his glasses and putting both hands in his pockets.

_Gotcha._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please never do any hate crimes like this! They leave giant scars that can ruin someone's life. I do not encourage this at all.


	5. The Grim Reaper Wears Givenchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka fights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gore and blood.  
> Stars will be at the beginning and end of the fight scene, if you want to skip it.

The sky is carpeted in dark, thick clouds, nearby trees violently swaying in the wind. It's definitely going to rain tonight. Killua hasn't come back yet, the clock nearing 3 in the afternoon. Gon's eyes watch the door, still wrapped in his fuzzy blanket. The handle jiggles, and in stumbles an exhausted Kil. Gon gives a confused look.

"I finished *yawn* cleaning up the paint. Aaaand the brushes... And the ink. And I comforted all the guardians. And I cleaned all the spilt herbs." Killua puts his hands together, stretching out. Gon can only feel sorry, getting up and ushering Killua to the couch, dropping his blanket. He leans forwards when Killua's seated, solidly patting his tangled silver hair and heading to the kitchen. Gon's mother taught him to cook since he learnt to walk, making him almost professional now. Killua always makes sure to enjoy his cooking, it's hard not to.

Quick heels hit cement, fabric flying behind. The Grim Reaper wears a lacy dress shirt, a silver tie, black slacks, and a black coat over his shoulders. A silver spun ace of spades carefully embroidered into the back, almost lifelike. A golden earring follows the wearer. _Not too long, now._ He can feel who he's looking for, maybe 100 more meters ahead. Hisoka's running through a more desolate branch of Meteor City, one still untouched by the league. Broken down buildings litter the grounds, rubble making it harder and harder to keep his pace up. He halts to a stop, kicking dust and hearing voices. This building seems the most stable. It reeks of old weed and smoke. Ah, yes, the most inconspicuous hideout. The Reaper's eyes fade to black sclera, his hair fading to white, and his senses shoot through the roof. _Nine_ _bodies. This should be fun._ He hums, backing up into the wreck's looming shadow, blending in. He gets closer, catching eye of a small flame, surrounded by laughter. _Three women, five men, and.. A child?_ Hisoka peeks over, the child keeps quiet among the laughter. Wearing a classic kimono with a short bob, and a mark on their lip.

"You know, the kid has some nice hands. Would go good on the market." Laughter ensues again, followed with

"Wouldn't it be better to just keep him for a bit? Get him to write a shit ton of charms and _then_ take his hands."

"Nah, maybe ask him about the other League of Anon members. Remember? Chrollo's team beat the shit out of them, even if they _were_ level nines." A gruff voice chuckles.

Our magician creeps closer, into the same room, and emerges from the shadows. A short man notices immediately, drawing his katana.

" _Who?"_ He's clearly not very fluent, his voice hushed but still bearing a light accent. The rest around the fire turn around to the man's notice. There's a built man, wearing a tracksuit with slicked back blond hair. A woman, pink hair messily tied back. A man with a high ponytail, another, hulking. A small woman, seemingly normal with a plain black turtleneck on. A childish looking blond with big eyes, and another woman with an arched nose and dirty blonde hair, a pistol hanging loosely from her fingers. They immediately get up, drawing their weapons. The Reaper can only smirk.

"Oh? Fighting are we?" He holds his hand to the side, a dark scythe materializing. The foreign man leaps ahead first, katana growing aflame. The magician has much ease ducking, the other swinging again. The dirty blonde draws her gun, 

"Feitan, move!" She fires twice, easy miss. The shorter man's still swinging furiously, travelling around the room. The rest prep, and charge at him. The hulking mass of muscle seems to be able to enhance himself and a few others, the slicked blond winding up an arm with the assisted buff. The childlike man holds both hands out, strange needles twisting into view. The plain girl shouts,

"Blinky!" And some weird vacuum calls out. Ponytail reaches for his seated blade, but the pink haired woman holds an arm out.

"Let's watch, they don't need help now, it's six against one, just stay with Kalluto and I. Learn from here." Hisoka overhears, _Six against one..? **Lovely**. _

_***_

The hand-to-hand fighters rush ahead, the messy blonde and the child-like staying far. The child blond throws a flurry of needles, hitting one of his allies already.

"Fuck you, Shalnark!" The other blond yells out, he just responds in a silly grin, shrugging. Tracksuit boy drops to the ground almost a second after the hit. "Oh. Heh. Shit." 

_Tranquilizers..? Ah~ Love when they play_ _dirty._ Hisoka decides to make use of his weapon, the foreign boy not even breaking a sweat. He swings out, tearing the kid's shoulder. The plain girl and the hulking mass jump in. The girl swings at Hisoka's head, _The hell..?_ Being given a closer look, the vacuum has rows of teeth from the lips and down the tube. _Gross._ The werewolf man throws a fist into the ground, sending rocks and rubble up and cracking through the ground. He sends both himself and the magician flying upwards, Hisoka can almost **taste** his strength and passion. _Oh,~ Don't keep me begging._ Hisoka tosses his scythe up, ducking under Feitan's sword, and catching it. The blade slices into Feitan's back, dragging to his neck. Blood spurts out like a water balloon, the bystanders just watching in horror. Dirty blonde fires another round, and it pelts into the jester's calf. Pain surges through, almost numbing. This group is sloppy, another bullet flying into the plain girl's side. She seems terribly weak, stopping her pursuit to hold her side. Hisoka finally removes his weapon from Feitan's back, letting the last of the blood fly out, and watching him collapse on the ground like a husk. The werewolf man screams out, after watching his friend collapse. He swings hard at Hisoka, grazing his cheek and letting a gust of wind mixed with blood fly out. _Emotional tie? Rookie mistake._ He scoffs at the thought, under his breath. Hisoka swings out again, cutting into the enraged wolf's side.

"Fuck!" He yells out, his head quickly turning to the cut.

"Got the mouth of a pornstar, have we? _Dirty._ " He purrs, pushing the blade in with visible ease.

"Uvo!" The baby blond yells, running in with needles in between his fingers. He slashes at Hisoka, cutting the collar of his shirt and managing to scratch the very surface of the Reaper's skin. _Good enough._ The tranquilizer seeps in immediately, but the Reaper's unfazed, still hell bent on ripping the wolfman apart. He tugs the scythe again, it's almost all the way through, one more tug. Uvo splits in half, blood leaking out like a faulty pipe. He instantly coughs blood out, a bit landing on Hisoka. _Disgusting._ The three sitting aside decide to finally jump in, two deaths hitting hard. Vacuum woman's already back up,

"Blinky!" A multi-toned voice answers, "Suck the tranquilizer out of Phinks!" She runs to the man still sprawled onto the dirt, pulling the needle out and holding the head at the hole. The pink haired girl runs at him, a thin, metallic string materializing. Small sparks come off of it as she wraps it around her fingers, punching at Hisoka as he dodges side to side. The kid with the bob tosses shreds of paper in the air, flicking open a fan and blowing them at Hisoka in a hard gust. To normal skin, the paper would already go slicing through. To Hisoka, they merely passed as small scratches or papercuts. _Weak. Disappointing._ The Reaper's scythe dissolves into the air, grabbing the arm struck at him, and twisting it behind the woman's back. A loud, scarring crunching scream comes out, the arm bent far past her body's limit. She cries out, swinging a free hand at Hisoka. It hits his collarbone, emitting a lengthy shock.

"Mm. _Kinky._ " Hisoka grins at her, running his tongue past his upper lip. _What the fuck is this freak made of?!_ Tracksuit's back up and running, winding his arm up. It glows a hazy white with each wind, another member able to enhance his own strength. Hisoka's interested, spinning to the front of the pink haired woman and taking hold of both her jaw and her shoulder. He jerks one hand up and to the side, breaking her neck and letting her crumble to the ground. The child's still blowing confetti at Hisoka, which just proves to be annoying. Reaper boy arms himself with his scythe, keeping a steady strut as slickback runs on, ready to swing his arm in full drive. Blood is drawn. Hisoka threw his scythe ahead, tearing his arm off as the scythe returns to his grasp. No problem, blondie's winding the other arm, running close enough to hit. Hisoka bends back, the arm piercing the air above and sending a wave into the wall behind him. The roof leaks dirt. Another swing, scratching at his neck and burning skin. The fight's been too short for Hisoka's standards, wanting to savor the intoxicating aroma of rage and grief at it's finest. He keeps bending and twisting around, the one in front of him visibly getting slower. Shots are still being fired from the woman, one bullet digging into Hisoka's wrist. Blood flies onto the wall, earthy dirt and irony blood mixing together into an icky scent. Hisoka heads towards the blonde, and she quickly realized, firing rapidly with a panicked expression written all over her face. A smooth swing like silk, and her head flies off. It sends a quick wave of blood in all directions, splattering onto Hisoka's white shirt. _Ugh. That's going to be a hard wash._ Five out of nine spiders stay alive, one teetering on the edge. He'll save that one for last. Anemia quickly takes effect, blood viciously flying from Tracksuit's shoulder. A blade lashes out, licking Hisoka's neck. Blood only barely leaks out, but it's enough for turtleneck.

"Blinky!" the same multi-toned voice sounds in return, "Suck all of his blood out of that wound!" It whines out a *kaay* sound, and she points the head in Hisoka's direction. A small leak of blood starts trailing in that direction, Ponytail still swinging at Hisoka. Dissatisfied, Ponytail opens his free hand, shurikens twisting up and into form. A rain of stars. It's hard to avoid, the slim metal almost invisible head-on. Hisoka protects his vital organs with the blade of his scythe, metal against metal raining down and shooting sparks. The kid with the paper's stopped being on the offensive, realizing they can do close to nothing. Since neither the shuriken-slinger or the Reaper are getting anywhere, Hisoka decides to target someone else. Vacuum girl. The sound's like heavy whining, making focusing almost impossible. He darts away, letting his scythe evaporate and delivering a hard uppercut, shooting blood upwards like a fountain. Her eyes are wide, giving a tipper and an advantage to the other. Hisoka flicks her glasses off, burying both his claws into her eye sockets and flicking the hazel orbs out. It's _real messy._ Her high voice screeches out, big mistake. Hisoka buries a fist through her mouth, breaking a few teeth and cleanly punching a hole through her throat. He takes his arm out, letting turtleneck slump to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Shizuku!" Ponytail yells out, the dirty blonde staring in disbelief. Hisoka's shaking the blood off of his hand, needles, and a long sword already flying at him. His scythe materializes in his bloodied hand, able to deflect most of the incoming projectiles. The one armed man jumps back in, his arm glowing with the winding time. His time goes paid off, while Hisoka's busy with the flurry of slashes. A solid hit lands on his upper chest, sending him soaring into the wall behind. He holds his chest, coughing up blood. It's hard to breathe, but not impossible. It's probably better to cut this fight off as soon as possible. 

The puncher and the sword each race to Hisoka, grip still heavy and strong on his own weapon. Tracksuit's next hit won't be as strong, as he's been given mere seconds to go on. He runs right into both of them, impaling the blond right through the stomach and kicking Ponytail aside. He's hanging on the end of the blade, but still alive. He tries to push himself off of the blade, hands running blood as he makes slow progress. _He'll die anyways, it's not worth the effort._ He shakes the body off of his weapon, dropping into the dirt already a corpse.

"Phinks!" Ponytail cries, "Shalnark, get over here!" His voice is raspy and choking, having lost too many friends already. The childish blond is struck, but rushes over and summons more needles racing into Hisoka head on. Ponytail's attacks feel more aggressive now, grief leaking from every single swing. Instead of fighting with the actual sharp part of the scythe, he jams the long handle into his throat, making him choke. Blondie's attacks are mainly ranged, making the last bit of effort too easy. Ponytail's busy coughing up blood, his throat stinging and crying crimson. Hisoka finds more fun in doing nasty work with his own hands, it's electrifying. Now barehanded, he dashes to the blond and whams a grip into his throat. He presses into his adam's apple, making the guy wheeze and choke. He's begging, crying even. He squirms and twists in Hisoka's grip, yet not even an inch of Hisoka wants to let him go. He presses harder a nail tunneling through. The boy's eyes widen, blood warming and flowing out, dripping onto Hisoka's thumb. _This should be enough. There aren't people for miles from here, much less a hospital._

Turning back to the swordfighter, who's regaining his stance, Hisoka stays still. His bitter, dandelion eyes glare into Ponytail's, red and wet with frustration. Ponytail drops onto his knees,

"I can't *choke* fight *hic* you.." His weapon clatters onto the ground, thinning into nothing. "You've taken *cough* everything from me. My *hic* family.." His voice completely crumbles, eyes drawn to the bodies already cold and on the ground, small pools of blood forming around and hugging their limp skin. "Please.. just *cough* make it quick." He points his head down, fiddling with his hands.

"An easy kill is no fun," Hisoka critiques, Ponytail looking up in fear, but Hisoka still has some humanity in him, "Yet I can make exceptions." He draws his scythe once more, going to Ponytail's side and holding the scythe across. "Speak up." The blade digs into the dirt a few inches from the swordfighter's neck. He stares down at the dirt, then at his fallen family. He can only choke one thing out.

"I'm sorry."

The blade swings through his thin neck, blood flying onto Hisoka's shoes. The room is finally quiet. Except for one. Hisoka drags his scythe behind him, making a trail from a decapitated warrior to one dark corner of the room. Pink, glistening eyes peek out. The kid's huddled in the corner, weeping in a small ball. 

***

"You're not worth it. Leave." Hisoka points to an exit, darting eyes loathful on the kid. Rose eyes appear surprised, but take the chance to run away. It's finally all quiet. Hisoka's clothes are bloodstained and ripped, but it's nothing in comparison to the bloodbath in front of him. He walks out of the desolate building, only occupied by spirits now. The kid's nowhere in sight. He stares for a moment, then kicks a load-bearing pillar down. The building goes crashing, in an explosion of dust. It's heavily raining, the dirt transforming into mud. Hisoka looks at his dirtied clothes, and feels his body ache. His breathing is still unsteady, as he's slightly wheezing. He takes his overcoat and his dress shirt off, rather going into the city half naked than being blacklisted as a murderer. 

The long road back to the Meteor City plaza is a long road, but Hisoka would rather take his time, the cold rain rather massaging and soothing. His hair fades back to the natural red, the whites of his eyes clearing. Almost immediately, the energy used takes a heavy toll on his body. He's definitely strong, but not strong enough for his abilities. He might not even make it back to the city, but that's alright. His body falls over, like an unwanted children's toy. He dozes off into a heavy sleep, the cold rain falling hard as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People who have the ability to enhance their own and other's strength are usually strong already, making their ability even more effective. Some people can only help themselves, while others can help up to maybe a hundred-or-so other people.  
> I had fun writing this :) Likely the longest chapter I've ever made.


	6. Sea of Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon visits Doctor Paradinight, the two experience something beyond word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; I'm not sure if this counts, but I got a little distressed writing out the therapy scene. You're welcome to skip.

Morning sunlight beams through heavy, pale lidded eyes. The lashes flutter in the easy breeze, blood all washed through. They open, looking around at his surroundings. Broken, all in ruin. It's _dead_ quiet, crows perching on the crooked electricity lines. They call out, fluttering their dark wings, staring down at the body. Hisoka traces his chest, a pale, violet bruise coming into shape. _Last night.._ The Reaper props himself up, pinching between his brows. He remembers the screams of the dead, _Shizuku! Phinks!_ He remembers the body sliding off of his blade, crumpling to the ground like a candy wrapper. He feels heavy weights have been placed all over his body, his own ability hurting himself more than his adversaries. Maybe he'll just lay in this desolate wasteland for a moment further. _The sun feels nice._

Droopy eyes slowly open, followed by a quiet, high pitched yawn. He recognizes his own charms hung up on his walls, beams of light lazily seeping through the curtains. They highlight Gon's brushes and inks, a stack of blessed paper on the edge of the low desk. Dust swirls around in the light, landing on the black, plush pillow. Gon turns over, head facing the ceiling. He can't look at anything like that right now. Hot tea wafts under the door and into his room, a soothing chamomile. Gon sits up, hopping off of his bed and dragging his duvet with him. Killua's leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a small mug and scrolling on his phone. The door slowly creaks, perking up his ears. His head quickly turns to the noise, looking like a scared cat. He grew up in a _unique_ household, to say the least. Forced to grow wary of his surroundings, even his own closest family. But not Gon, or Alluka, their hearts made of gold and chrysanthemums. They desired only to love and help, Killua's ability **never** failed him. Kil's face relaxes once he sees Gon.

"Feeling better?" The writer's face falls into a somber look, eyes moving away. He shakes his head slightly. Kil puts his mug down, phone slipping into the pocket of his cuffed jeans. He holds his arms out to Gon, and the boy closes in, resting his head on Killua's shoulder. Cat-eyes pats his head, holding him tightly close, "I called Doctor Paradinight for you, your appointment's at one." He pulls Gon away, cupping his soft face in his pale hands. "I have to call in repairs and fix the shop, okay? So I can't drive you." Gon nods, "Be safe, and call me whenever." He gives Gon one more pat on the head, ruffling his bedhead and putting his mug in the dishwasher. "I have to go now, get ready soon. See you." He leaves with a beaming smile, waving a hand before slipping through the door and leaving Gon alone.

Paradinight's offices aren't far from their apartment, around Zushi's area. Gon's loose clothing sways in the breeze, staring up at the familiar building. He goes inside, the warm fuzzy smell of s'mores and hot chocolate wafting through the air. The man at the front desk looks up, and grins warmly.

"Welcome back, Gon. Doctor Paradinight's already in his office, head on up." He's warm and friendly, like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. The teen nods, going into the elevator and pressing the button with a small chime. The elevator whirs up, soft music playing through the speakers. The lights flash above the doors, floor 20. A long hall leads to a row of doors, a few open desks around. They wave to Gon, a familiar. The door at the very end of the hall swings ajar, to a bright open room. Leorio sits on a comfy-looking chair in the corner, giving a fuzzy grin and motioning towards the couch on the opposite side of the room. Leorio's office is lined with bookshelves full of things like heavy books, gundam models, and old space movie memorabilia. The back wall is entirely window, looking out to the flamboyant inner city. Gon drags his boots on the carpet, collapsing on the couch.

"Good afternoon, Gon. Killua's already told me about the recent happenings, I'm terribly sorry." Leorio grips his clipboard, "Mind if I take a look?" The teen stares up, nodding. The doctor slides his round shades off, folding them and placing them on a nearby table stacked with tall papers and books. He leans back, closing his eyes and placing a hand on his chin. Doctor Paradinight's a mind reader, as are most involved in therapy. He's the visual type, allowing himself to see emotion instead of read. Mind readers come in a long spectrum from self experiencing the grief, to simply reading like a book. Gon's head is usually a quaint, rocky cliff connected to a soft field of tall grass and swaying dandelions. Not today.

Raging waves crash into the hard stone, emitting a sound like thunder. Wind blows violently, the waves nearly reaching cliff level. The waves cry out, almost screaming as they throw themselves onto the cliffside. A section of the cliff comes crashing down violently, mixing in with grieving ocean. Crows circle above, screeching carpeted by the heavy sea throwing it against hard rock again and again. Raindrops fly out with every hit, pitter-pattering like hail onto the grass. The once white sky now infests with lamenting dark, shards of ice flying out and pelting into the dirt. Dandelion seeds fly with every quake received from the weeping waves, growing more and more passionate with every strike. The water peeks over the ledge, crawling onto the land like spiders and drowning the grass. The water rises rapidly, almost entirely engulfing the land. But, it's different, being under the water,

It's soft, quaint. The grass sways back and forth steadily, shards of ice lifting up. The ocean screams on the outside, but softly weeps below. It's almost.. _suffocating_ , gentle beams of light seeping through the dark cloud and into the water. It's odd, beautiful, even, gentle koi swimming through the air above and swans paddling on the surface. It's unreal, but the rain pelts down hard as ever. Yet, the surface of the water is out of grasp. Watching the beauty from afar, but being trapped in the lonely dark, tangling up in the heavy grass. Breathing becomes a tedious task, lungs tightening with every attempted breath. It's unbearable, even killing.

Leorio finds soft drops streaking down his cheeks. He's never seen anything like it, even with years of experience. Gon stares down, empty. Rather a husk than a living being, the tears have already been shed. "I'm.. so sorry.." Leorio chokes out, grabbing tissues off of the end table. Paradinight clears out his throat, dabbing his eyes with soft tissues and putting his glasses back on. His throat is tight, almost making it impossible to breathe. The experience is familiar to Leorio, yet it grabs him every time. He still deals with the loss of his close, childhood friend, Pietro. Not being strong or rich enough to save him. Paradinight clears his throat again, adjusting his tie which proves to be a sign of his own struggle and dishevelment. He clicks a pen, scribbling onto a piece of paper quickly.

"..Thirty tablets of fluoxetine.... Ten milligrams.." Leorio drives a hand across, signing the paper and handing it to Gon. "Go with Killua later, always have someone with you. Okay?" Gon nods, a soft hand reaching out and taking the prescription, "For now, try doing something small within your home. I know you enjoy cooking, maybe try baking something for someone you appreciate, like Killua." Gon nods. "I'll see you in a week. Stay safe." Leorio waves to Gon, already on his feet and about to leave. The teen peeks back at Paradinight, gently beaming before leaving the room.

Fog floats lazily, a door sliding open and a shower turning off. Droplets of water stride down porcelain skin, disappearing into a towel. Bubble gum nails click on the sink, a looming figure slumped over. He brings a hand to the fogged mirror, wiping across. He leans back, a mauve-peachiness blotch dotted with raspberry tones spread across his chest in the ugly swipe of a painter's brush. Salmon flesh peeks out of his split lip, maroon sneaking back into the wound. Hisoka lifts his chin, fingers trailing over a burnt cut whipped across the midsection of his neck. Flesh doesn't seem visible, but there's a blush puff around the scrape. There's a bullet wound in his left wrist, leaving every simple task a grueling bother. There's another bullet wound in his calf, it doesn't bother him as much. The rest of his neck, hands, ankles, and a window of his chest are covered in blossom scrapes and ugly papercuts. He can't go out looking like this. He wraps the towel around his hips, leaving the washroom and into the open apartment. Big, dark eyes turn around behind the couch.

"Oh, you're finally out. The hell happen to _you_ ?" The gloss of his hair glistens in the hanging lamps, soft, rounded claws holding a magazine. 

" 'Talk about it later." He's looking away from Illumi. "Sew me up later?"

Illumi's solid eyes are drawn to the split lip, and the bullet wound on his wrist. "Fine. Cops?" 

"No." Hisoka walks to his room, with an almost invisible limp.

"Put on some pants!" Illumi calls out to him, before sprawling back onto the couch.

Hisoka looks back at himself, standing in front of the tall mirror on the wall. _Hideous._ Even with his toned body, built like a graceful tank, as if he was a living statue, he loathed what he saw staring back. 

_'Lucid Ink'_ is almost fully back in working condition, glass replaced and damage almost fully paid off. The lost inks would definitely be hard to pay off, but Gon could still work without them. _'Lucid Ink'_ was almost shining, looking better than before with a smooth gridded quartz floor, dark wood shelves with jars of pricey herbs, and guardian cases more showy than ever. Killua was proud, almost already seeing Gon's lit up face, like fireworks. Though, he thought he had one more task to fulfill. Finding the ones who did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughh smut or no smut i dont knowwwww  
> ;  
> i really like how the story's coming along though :D  
> * PLEASE TAKE ALL DRUGS AND MEDICINES IN PRESCRIPTION AND USE CAREFULLY *


	7. Burnt Cigars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka talks with Illumi, Lucid Ink is back in order. Gon gets a surprise visitor.

The night is young, sirens blaring through the streets and showy bikers obnoxiously revving their engines through Meteor City's extensive streets. Two men sit on a large, white couch, in front of a wall of windows. Hisoka's crossing his legs, Illumi kneeling as he closes the open bullet wounds with needles. He weaves with thin string, closing the wounds quick. Illumi has the ability to disguise, biting his thumb and pressing the blood on the sewn up wound, making it appear as though it's fully healed. He's working on Hisoka's wrist, holding a few needles in between his teeth, but his roommate isn't watching like he usually would. Rather, he's staring out the tall windows, as if he's waiting for something. Illumi breaks the silence.

"You seem different." Me muffles in between his teeth, Hisoka raising a brow.

"..How so?" Illumi pauses for a moment, big eyes staring at the wound. 

"....I can _feel_ it." He resumes, smearing blood on the stitches and camouflaging the visible thread. "Something's.. off." His eyes look back up at Hisoka, unusually quiet. Illumi's voice grows deeper, throaty. "You don't watch me like you used to." Hisoka doesn't talk, he only watches the cars passing by. "I can't tell for better or for worse, hell, I don't even know why you've changed." Illumi moves the other's leg, working on the wound in his calf.

"I feel it too." His voice is quiet, but loud enough for the other to hear. He turns back to look at Illumi, digging needles and holding his wound shut. "I _hate_ it." He spits, the word like a bad taste, "It's **suffocating**." His daffodil orbs peering back out, into the dark sky polluted by light. His wide-eyed friend decides not to dig further, retaining his reserved nature and not bothering Hisoka. 

_He's in a bitter mood.._ Illumi finishes sewing his calf, marking with blood. He reaches for Hisoka's face, turning towards himself and sewing. It's quiet, even with the bustle of the cars and bikes outside. He finishes with the split lip, marking the burns on Hisoka's neck. 

"There." He takes the pile of needles to the sink, disinfecting and washing each with care. His roommate gets up, grabbing a pack off of the coffee table. "Don't overdo it." He calls out, Hisoka returning to his room, perching out on the balcony. He lights a match by dragging it along the railing, the red tip exploding in flame and kissing the tip of his cigarette. He brings the cigarette to his blush lips, taking a puff and huffing out a ring. He digs into his pocket, looking for something to fumble with. He feels a small, crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. Hisoka digs the lit cigarette into the railing, exterminating in a low hiss. He flicks the burnt out cigar off of the balcony, and takes the paper out. He smooths it out with both hands, _The charm._ The symbol devours him, like it did the first time. 

_There it is again. That tight, suffocating feeling._

The pills clatter around like candies, Gon admiring the apricot tint of the capsule. He's taken various medicines and pills since the incident, even trying to make his own remedies with the tea. Teas for memory loss, painkillers, even brain damage. None ever worked, or almost did. He's been in hospitals time to time, all for the same reason. Since then, Killua's had to keep close watch on him, stopping him from drinking things that would hurt him so badly. Gon wondered if these would even work, all the other prescriptions failing horribly. Lapis eyes watch Gon.

"Take one yet?" Gon shakes his head, popping the lid open and pouring himself a glass of water. He tosses it up in the air, catching it in his mouth and washing it down with cold water. Pills were always hard to swallow, it just didn't feel right. Today, _'Lucid Ink'_ is thankfully back in order. Gon's missed the long bike rides through the city, waving to Leorio and Zushi. _'Lucid Ink'_ almost glows, the remodel even more eye catching than the last. Of course, Gon's inks haven't been recovered, it'll be a while until that. Water fixtures have been added in, flowing like soft waterfalls. The charm room's remodeled too, water flowing from the back wall endlessly. The many brushes have been put under the floorboards, the ink and paper still in box shelves on the walls. It's enchanting, but not worth the pain. Gon prepares his setup, but only with a simple black ink instead of his much preferred vocabulary of inks. Killua checks in on Gon, who doesn't seem disappointed. Just a little sad, still. He pats the boy's head, taking the amber ribbon and tying it around his eyes carefully. 

"I'm gonna open now, kay?" Gon nods. The morning's unusually slow, as the season nears to Autumn. The trees aren't shining rose or honey, but they're getting close. The weather's dropped in Meteor City, resulting in fewer visitors. All businesses are slow, tourists coming and going quicker than usual. 

_Ah, here we are._

His slim figure steps in, Killua giving a welcoming grin. He wears loose clothing, but still maintaining his dignified profile. He casts the same warm smile back, eyes drawn to the guardians. He seems to whisper with them, laughing time to time. _Another soul communicator..?_ He waves to the stones, walking up to the counter empty handed. His dark eyes are almost friendly by nature, something seeming familiar to Killua. He beams again, both eyes closing.

"Your shop writes charms as well, correct?" He's awfully polite, a little weird to Kil. Cat-eyes leans back on his stool slightly, something's _definitely_ calling out to him. "Hm, you don't seem like a writer, no. I assume your writer's in the back?" Killua nods,

"I'll open it up for you." He digs for the key in his pocket, getting up and unlocking the door. "Take your time." 

The man nods, casting another grin at Killua. He takes long strides, sitting down onto the pillow and propping an arm up with his knee. He speaks up before Gon can write a message out to him.

"I assume you recognize me." Gon grows confused, lifting his blindfold. Those familiar black eyes, soft brows and a bandanna covering his forehead. 

_What's he doing here?!_ Gon stiffens up, almost frozen. He **hated** this man, so falsely charming. _Murderer._ His pale hands grow into fists, pursing his lips.

"Now, now. That kid over there's not worth killing to me." He nudges a head backwards, where the door is. "I see you've grown, quite a bit too." 

_Shut up. Leave, I **never** want to see you again. _

"Easy, I'm here on different terms. I have no interest in you. Write me something, would you?" He leans forwards, pulling Gon's blindfold down. "Write me one of death." His words burn like flames, stinging with each word. Gon has to write, he _knows_ how strong this guy is. He wouldn't even hesitate to kill **anyone**. The teen reaches a shaky hand towards his plethora of brushes, picking a thick one up and dipping it in black ink. He's filled with fear, he knows _**Lucilfer**_ _'_ _s_ enjoying every moment of this torture. The brush taps onto the paper, and Gon takes a breath. He _has_ to do this. He stiffens his hand, drawing thick lines followed with thick lines. His moves become jagged, frustration's easily slipping into his mind. He has to stop himself short, before he throws the brush into Lucilfer's stupid, smiling face. He rests the brush on a holder, pushing the charm towards the man. _It's better to just end this quick._ The dark eyed visitor stares down at the charm for a moment, then takes it in hand. He gets up, heading towards a door, before pausing and turning his head back to Gon.

"See you later, _**killer**_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't litter like Hisoka, kids!  
> I like to imagine Gon with his hair down, it fits the vibe better, and Hisoka usually wearing things like lacy poofy dress shirts with titty windows. Formal stuff, he looks good.  
> * And no, Hisollumi doesn't exist. They're just bros vibing


	8. Suffocating Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears are shed, Hisoka comforts and spends time with Gon.

The words dissolve into the air, like poison biting at every inch of his being. It's paralyzing, killing. The door closes, and Gon pushes his blindfold up. Tears instantly fly out. He wants to _kill_ Lucilfer, he wants to just eat all of his pills and make everything go away*, he _tried_ to forget so many times, yet it still hangs over him like a shadow. He buries his head in his arms, sobbing quietly. By the time he's run out of tears to cry, his lantern sleeves are darkened with salty tears, and his eyes are red. He holds his cold hands to his face, reducing the redness and thus, reducing the evidence. Now he sits, quiet and alone. He claws at his arms and wrists*, leaving stuffy pink marks in their place. Killua checks in with Gon, and our mess puts up a shaky smile, he doesn't want to occupy Killua any further. 

Hisoka's phone buzzes, a notification popping up. It's from his boss, a long list of names plus information he always skips out on reading. It's quite a list though, big names in big places. Hisoka's going to need help. He treks into the plaza, already catching view of the place he needs to go. It looks nicer, glistening, even. Hisoka has a dark jacket slung over his shoulders, wearing a white turtleneck with obvious suits adorning the front, and black and white gridded slacks. The Zoldyck from last time looks up, almost immediately glaring.

"You know what I'm here for." _Of course he's here for Gon._ "By the way, I don't think I've properly introduced myself. My name is Hisoka." The name immediately strikes a chord, he's well known in the family, and a close kin to Killua's brother. "I assume you've heard of me, Killua." His prussian blue glare only intensifies at The Grim Reaper. "I'm not here to hurt that boy. You should know _well_ what my priorities are." Marigold eyes stare even to Killua's, the boy finally huffing. He grabs the key, inserting it into the lock.

" **Fine.** _You dare even lay a_ _finger_ _on him-_ " 

"I'm well aware." Hisoka interrupts, only wishing to get his concern dealt with. Killua just emits a *tch*, finally opening the door. The magician only gives a satisfied smile, entering and closing the door behind himself. The room's clearly different, glowing water rushing behind the boy. He's oddly quiet, but that isn't a big concern right now. Gon reluctantly takes a spare leaf of paper, dipping in thin ink and writing.

_'How may I help you?'_

The writing's a little shaky, but not impossible to decipher.

"Good afternoon, Gon-kun." His voice rings like honey, yet only receiving a subtle smile back from the boy, fleeting. Now, this really bothers Hisoka. That same suffocating pain creeps back into his chest like an infection. The uneasiness of another person shouldn't be something he has to handle. Gon writes again, 

_'What kind of charm?'_ He doesn't strike conversation, he doesn't bother getting to know the magician, **something** has to be wrong. His loose sleeves are stained with water, yet there's a pane of glass covering the waterfall behind Gon. The only other thing could be ink, yet it's too dark to only create grey spots on Gon's white turtleneck. Hisoka knows all to well what's on his sleeves, and avoids Gon's question.

"Gon-kun," He hesitates, _Why should I be concerned with this kid? I have other urgent matters to attend to. _But his mouth moves on his own, "Is something the matter?" The reaction he receives is a clear answer, Gon bites his bottom lip and tugs his sleeves lower. Hisoka leans forwards, lifting his given blindfold up. Hazel, teary eyes can only stare down at his hands, Gon can't make eye contact at all. _Shit. He's crying, what the hell do I do?_ Hisoka's clearly never been in any situation like this, leaving him dumbfounded. He gets up, rounding the table to Gon and kneeling down, turning his head to face himself. The teen still avoids eye contact, eyes dragging his head down. The choking pain comes back, panging like a sharp headache in his chest. _Could it be the bruise..? What is it?!_

Hisoka brings a thumb to the edge of Gon's eye, wiping a tear away. The boy clearly hurts, but why can't he enjoy watching this?! He closes the space, tightly embracing Gon. _This is it, I've lost the last sliver of my pride._ The boy brings two shaky arms back up, wrapping around Hisoka and silently weeping into his shoulder. It's been a minute or two, and the teen finally slows to a stop. He sniffs, pulling back from the hug. Hisoka wipes the last of his tears up, running a hand through his hair and pulling back the strands tangled in front of his chocolate eyes. He can't just ask for a charm now, not while he's unstable. Hisoka speaks in an unusually gentle tone,

"Gon, would you teach me how to write charms?" The boy sniffles, but pulls a genuine smile. Hisoka inches closer to his side, Gon pulling a spare sheet of paper and two thin brushes. They spend the next ten minutes together, laughing and tapping each other with inked brushes. _It's nice, having someone to hang out with other than Killua._ Hisoka's phone buzzes, another message from his boss. It's about the list of names, he wants them wiped immediately. Gon looks at him, confused and back to his curious self.

"My apologies, Gon-kun. It's been longer than I realized," Gon's face falls a little bit, "would you mind writing a charm for me? I have somewhere important to be." The boy understands, pushing Hisoka away and back to his side of the table. "A luck charm, please." It's different than what Gon's used to hearing from him, but decides to do so anyways. He picks a slip of blessed paper up from a stack, dipping a different thin brush into the dark ink. He pulls his blindfold over his eyes, and starts painting. His movements are soft, alluring. Almost kind. They differ in extreme leaps and bounds from the death charms Hisoka's always seen, the sign looks almost _proud._ Gon lifts the brush from the paper, and the symbol is breathtaking. Beautiful, warm, inviting. Gon smiles, feeling his client's satisfaction. He pushes the charm out, but lets out another small sound.

 _'May I have your number?'_ Gon holds his phone out. The question hits Hisoka like a train, not expecting it at all.

"..What for?" 

_'Well, I like talking with you. That's my reason.'_ Gon beams up at Hisoka, begging without moving. The magician seems almost assaulted by the unexpected compliment, he's a little shocked. _'I mean, it's okay if you don't want to.'_

"No, I," he holds his breath for a moment, "I enjoy talking with you too." He takes the phone, tapping in his number. He puts it back in the boy's hand, already having memorized the other's number. Gon grins at him, writing something else.

 _'To be honest, I was really scared to ask.'_ Hisoka turns confused,

 _What? Why?_ He doesn't understand how intimidating he can naturally be.

_'But I'm glad it paid off, talk later? ||)'_

"Of course. Thank you for spending time with me, I'll be on my way now. Goodbye, Gon-kun." Hisoka pockets the charm and stands up, watching the boy wave at him before closing the door behind himself. Of course, the Zoldyck's glaring.

"It's been a while." He hisses, Hisoka dropping payment onto the counter.

"As I've already established, I have no interest in either harming or growing intimate with the boy, and neither does he." Killua snatches the money, dropping it into the register and slamming the drawer, **hard**.

"Then why did you take so long?" He snarls, moments away from just ripping Hisoka's heart out,

"Your friend was _sobbing_ , if you didn't know. I did what any human being in the right mind would do." His words sting, piercing Killua straight through the heart. "Goodbye, Killua." 

_Gon was fucking **sobbing**?! And I had no idea all this time?!_ He barges into the charm room, Gon lifting his blindfold in confusion. 

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Kil's close to bursting, rushing to his friend's side. He holds Gon's soft face in his hands, face to face. Gon only softly grips his hands, lowering them and turning to write something.

_'I'm okay. Hisoka helped me, don't worry. He didn't hurt me, he didn't manhandle me, I'm perfectly okay. Just, stop worrying so much about me.'_

"Yeah, but-" Gon holds a soft hand to Killua's mouth, scribbling down something else.

_'No "but"s! I can deal with my own problems sometimes, I'm just as strong as you.'_

"Just.. tell me.. Please.." Gon tugs Killua's shirt into a tight embrace, patting his friend's head as he gently weeps into his shoulder. Gon nods, pulling back as Killua wipes his own tears away. He tucks Killua's hair behind his ear, like how Hisoka did. He holds Killua's hand tightly with one, writing with the other.

 _'I will, don't worry. For me.'_

The two sit in comforting silence, the lone orchestra of water flowing behind him. Gon pets Killua's head as he lays on the other's shoulder. He's tired out from sobbing into his friend. His sapphire eyes move to Gon's peaceful expression, one of complete contentment. It's as if misery or grief had been a foreign thing to the boy.

_Maybe.. Hisoka's not so bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * = PLEASE do not do this, I absolutely don't encourage anything like this.
> 
> Damn, I feel heavy after writing that.  
> * Killugon is not an existing ship! Established in the second chapter! *


	9. One in Billions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua grows more trust in Hisoka. Illumi and Hisoka talk.

A body falls to the side, like a lonely puppet. Dust tumbles by, parting with a heel's impact. Wide eyes stay open, still, lifeless. The room reeks of crimson and power, _fear_. Cracks scanning each inch of wall and hazy sparks still floating about. Flames still remain thriving on the furniture and wooden floors, the hazy ruby glow fading away from the body's arctic eyes. A scythe disperses into the air, the Grim Reaper adjusting his fitting black gloves. He wears the mask of a wolf's skull, and the scleras of his eyes lazily glow back to a natural pearl. His molten orbs move to his phone, satisfied with the work done.

 _'Don't leave a trace.'_ He scoffs at the message, snapping svelte fingers as the body rises off of the floor, turning to ash and twisting up in flames. _**I** didn't leave a trace_, His eyes scan the tattered room, _I can't say the very for him, though. _Hisoka lifts his phone, snapping a quick picture of the flaming ruins before typing

 _'That wasn't me. ⭐^-^ **💧**_ ' 

His phone blows up, filled to the very brim with cusses and demands. It's late in the evening, the sun just balancing on the dusky horizon. Violet clouds stay in the sky, befriended by suspended windmills and passerby aircraft. Bright tangerine rays shine through the dusty blinds, smoke wafting through the air as the last of the sparks hiss out. Hisoka's forearms and upper back are deeply scarred with heavy burns, the room reeking of charred flesh and the musk of smoked luxury fabric. He's about to make his quiet leave, until his phone buzzes out one more time. It's labeled as from an unknown number, dragging along his lingering curiosity. 

_' >>Hi, it's me. I'm just checking in to see if this is the right number.' _ Hisoka's brows furrow, completely forgetting about his exchange with the writer. His long claws click on the screen,

_' <<Pardon my curiosity, who might this be?'_

_' >>Oh my god.. I'm so sorry, they must've given me a ghost number.'_ Hisoka soon realizes, _Oh. The boy._

_' <<I apologize, Gon. Seems the recent events have gotten the most of me. Are you doing any better?_

Relief grows on the teen's face, who's sprawled on the couch with Killua, watching a show. Cerulean eyes turn to the side, watching Gon smile and tap on his phone. It was odd, seeing his friend smile in a way that wasn't at himself.

_' >>Hisoka! >:( I'm doing okay now. How about you?' _

The Reaper smiles at the face, followed with the text. An eerie warmth washes over his burnt body, the scars hurting a little less.

_' <<A little preoccupied at the moment. Let's talk later.'_

Hisoka tucks his phone away, dissolving into shadows and away from the scene.

_' >>Okay, see you.'_

Killua watches his smile slowly fade away, putting his phone back on the coffee table with a soft clank.

"Who was that?" Hazel eyes connect with his, bringing a hand up to his own face. Gon outlines a tear on his left cheek, right under his eye. _Oh. Hisoka._ Surprisingly enough, Killua isn't entirely mad at the fact. _Though Hisoka may_ _be a selfish, relentless, cold-blooded killer with little to no grasp on his humanity who lacks most sympathy and empathy, that doesn't mean he's **entirely**_ _monstrous._ His eyes go back to Gon, who's paying no mind to his staring. _Even if he tries to hurt Gon, I know I'll be able to protect him._ His eyes linger on Gon's eased face, his soft features glowing and his dark lashes outlined by the dim light. Full, blossom lips turn up at humorous lines, and his faint dimples shade. Even though he's never spoken a single word in the entirety of his nineteen years, he's shown more humanity, trust, and compassion than anyone Killua's ever met. Gon was _well_ worth protecting.

The faint blinking of a plane travels through the midnight bright, streets opening with bright displays and fashions. Illumi's busy rubbing ointment on Hisoka's arms, gentle music playing from the speakers.

"You never tell me about these things." Dark eyes still trained on the red blotches of skin,

"I have no need to." Blond eyes stay shut, enjoying the quiet dark. Illumi takes a wrap from the kit sitting on the coffee table, slowly wrapping around Hisoka's burn.

" **He** 's making you do a lot. First all those gunshot wounds and cuts, now this?" Followed by a daunting silence. He breaks the still. "You feel wrong, again. It's more obvious than the last." Hisoka stays quiet. "Spit it out. I know it's from one of your _toys._ " Heavy lidded golds finally open, stifling a smile.

"I can't get anything past you. He's a young charm writer." Illumi's thin brows raise, but continues to apply the minty balm. "I've only known him for a short time, two weeks at best. He works in the plaza."

"That's quite a long time. Perhaps the longest you've kept one around. I assume you've gotten-" Hisoka cuts Illumi short, 

"Not at all. He doesn't feel like the others did." Illumi was familiar with the charade Hisoka constantly put up with his toys. What Hisoka considered as an amorous affair, being a one-night stand, then leaving them in the dirt. "He's extremely weak compared to the rest, it seems as if one wrong move was taken, he'd shatter like glass." Hisoka was picky with his toys, dragging along those who seemed rough and strong, possibly even stronger than himself, "Though he **weakens** me." The same spiteful tone returns, "It's likely that he has more than one ability." 

"Like you..?" Illumi looks up at his friend, a rare case. Two powerful abilities which fought over the other, resulting in hellish ability mutation. Children born with this were easily put down by the League, it was word only very few knew about. Hisoka only escaped by a hair, being one out of tens.

"Exactly." His voice grows deep and throaty, almost whispering. "Fore," his voice returns to the usual tone, "I'll keep him around a little longer. He's.. unique."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow chapter, I feel a little out of it today.


	10. Grass Oceans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka takes Gon to the Outskirts. It rains.

The dust of faded leaves rolls through the city, streets growing populated with hazy crimson and honey stained leaves instead of showy attire and glamour. Killua took more time into taking care of his dear sister, rather than keeping himself around Gon. Kil went to go spend the weekend with Alluka, but still refused to let Gon go out into the Outskirts by himself. Gon's eyes rest on his phone, which lays on the corner of the table. He had been practicing his charm writing further, but the boredom reached inexplainable limits. The calm of the outer fields _taunted_ the boy, just out of reach. His only options were Zushi- but he was more of a walker. He didn't own any motorcycles or cars, more of a naturalist. Leorio on the other hand- well Gon knew he'd die if he ever stepped in a car with him. He may be a stable therapist and social worker, but he's a whole different man on the streets. He could simply be out riding his bike and get into simultaneous car crashes, maybe a plane would come down. The rest were either busy or too distant to ask favors from. 

_Wait.. Maybe Hisoka?_

Over the last few weeks, Hisoka would come by and hang around for a bit, talking with Gon and getting a charm written before disappearing to, well, who knows where.

He hesitated, _What if I'm bothering him..?_ He tries typing out a message, but quickly deleting right after. It takes a few hard tries to grab the right words, but he's finally happy with it. _Since when was writing a dumb text so hard?_

 _' >>Hey, could you do me a favor?'_

It takes a few minutes, Gon barely able to practice as he waited tensely. He'd only drawn a couple more charms before his phone buzzed. He lifts the amber blindfold, grabbing his phone in haste.

_' <<Depends. What for?'_

_' >>I just need you to drive me to the Outskirts. That's it. Maybe tomorrow morning.' _Hisoka replies quicker this time.

 _' <<Are you sure? It isn't safe out there.'_ He would know, being one of those people who made it so dangerous. He'd have fights with people of the same group, always showy and ending in some form of bloodshed.

_' >>Yeah, I've been out there a lot. Are you busy then?'_

_' <<No. Just tell me what time and where. ⭐^-^ **💧** ' _ The little smiles he would send always gave Gon a little more comfort in him, slowly getting to know the more playful side of Hisoka.

Hisoka's smiling down at his phone, something seen so little. It's not the twisted grin he gives in pleasure or pain, it's a subtle beam. "It's him, isn't it?" Illumi's staring at his face, "So it is. It's been almost a full month, Hisoka. Haven't you figured out anything?" Illumi's right, it's been so long since he first met the boy. The pains and feelings feel as odd and alien as ever, if not growing stronger.

Of course, Hisoka doesn't bring a car. He's more of a bike person, rather being efficient than showy. Gon has no idea what he expected, but it definitely wasn't a sleek sports motorcycle. The white Suzuki V-Strom practically radiates danger, but the teen can't turn back now. He looks more of a gangster than anything, even with his classic formal getup. Passersby obviously round corners and keep their distance from Hisoka, which proves a little funny to Gon. In terms of attire, he feels awfully casual, wearing white cargo joggers and his usual black lantern-sleeved turtleneck. He has his old silk blindfold wrapped over his forehead (Chrollo style) instead of the usual gold, which just feels overworn at this point. Hisoka's already sitting in the front when Gon comes out, tapping his black nails on the handles rhythmically. Gon clutches the straps of his small backpack, and hesitantly climbs onto the back, wrapping his arms around Hisoka's well-built body. He revs the engine, and shoots out into the main street. 

It isn't as bad as he thought, the ride definitely gripping, but enjoyable. He notices Hisoka's dangling heart earring swinging in the wind, _It's cute._ He almost likes this change of pace, Killua isn't so different when he drives, but there's something exciting with the magician. The rugged, sharp turns he takes that scream caution, the excessive speeds. Houses and apartments quickly reduce to plain grass, and Gon taps Hisoka's shoulder when the distance feels right. The driver pulls the bike to the side, and Gon steadily hops off, pulling a sketchbook and pencils out of his backpack. Morning dew still drips from the leaves, the air cold and bracing. Hisoka jumps off too, kicking the stand and leaning against the motorcycle.

It's quiet, serene. Gon feels _free_ , able to just stand still with his head held up, enjoying the calm of the fields. Occasional breezes swift by, brushing the long grass in lovely patterns and bringing life out. A couple of wood thrushes fly out into the grey sky, emerging from a calm ocean of grass. Gon quickly catches vision, scribbling birds onto a blank page. He flips the paper, ready to draw something else. Hisoka can only watch him be so lively, a diamond playing in the green sea. His book is almost full, only two or three empty pages left fluttering. Something catches his eye. It isn't a pond, or a daunting rabbit in the grass. It's Hisoka. An extravagant centerpiece standing out in the plain surroundings, like a bird of paradise in the desert, or an island in a vast ocean. It's oddly captivating, making Gon capture it in his sketchbook. The magician's enjoying the outdoors too, always being trapped up in the city like the shadow of a looming tower. He can feel the gentle breeze passing through, closing his eyes and capturing the moment in it's entirety. He's never come to admire this place, always having it a place of pain and violence. 

Gon's hair gently blows with the breezes, but the sky seems to get darker with the minute. Clouds swirl down, a raindrop landing on the tip of his nose. He goes back to Hisoka, putting his supplies back into his bag. Gon points upwards, the sky now a dooming grey, and Hisoka gets back onto the bike, 

"Let's go." 

Gon watches the serene field dissolve, replaced by gradually growing buildings. The gentle shower turns to harder pelting, and they won't make it far enough to Gon's apartment. Hisoka settles for second best. He swerves into the underground parking lot, and into his own apartment. Gon grows confused, but he's not going to fight back, and it's not like he can ask. The bike stops in a spot, and both get off.

"We wouldn't make it to your apartment, we're at mine."

_Ohhh.. That explains it._

"Come on." 

Hisoka walks into an elevator, after punching a code. He presses the second highest floor, and it whirs up. The elevator's nicely decorated, with wood lining the sides, patterned with LEDs. The doors open with a loud chime, Hisoka immediately getting out. The teen follows him through a long corridor, and what seems to be his room. Everything is oddly extravagant, potted plants here and box shelves there, making him a little jealous. Hisoka unlocks the door, stepping into his room.

The ceiling's _tall_ , with hanging orb lights and floor-to-ceiling windows. A section of the room is lower than the rest, dark oak wood stairs leading down. A long, white leather couch sits in the middle of the room, complimented with a glass coffee table and some papers sitting on top, along with a large flatscreen propped up against a strip of wall in between the glass. _Hisoka definitely doesn't live alone._

"Go sit down, I'll be there in a second."

Gon slips his sneakers off, wandering into the spacious apartment and onto the couch. He has a nice view, looking on at the business district. There are three doors to the left, and one by the kitchen. Gon takes his backpack off, digging inside and pulling out his sketchbook, it's already filled with sketches of fish, Killua, and other wildlife, but he decides to touch up on them. Hisoka comes back out, wearing a loose dress shirt, joggers, and holding a blanket. He joins Gon on the couch, handing the blanket to him. It smells like Hisoka, the warm caramel tones with a hint of pressed petals and mandarin.

"I thought it might be a little cold." Gon grabs his phone and types,

 _'Do you live with a polar bear???'_ He pushes it into Hisoka's face, who smiles and even laughs a little.

"Something like that." The rain pours hard as ever, seeming like it won't let up for days. He reaches to the coffee table, grabbing the remote and switching it on, flipping through channels.

"Nine bodies- *click* Rubble- *click* Brutal- *click* Meteor City-" _Boring._ Hisoka passes the remote to Gon, who switches it to a classic rom-com. _Of course._

Gon doesn't watch, but he does quietly giggle along to dumb jokes. Hisoka has to subconsciously admit that it's cute, though he'd never bring that up to mind. The rom-com's awfully boring, but it's fine if Gon enjoys it. Hisoka's lemon eyes watch Gon for a moment longer, bringing him to curiosity.

"What're you drawing?" Gon looks up from his book, then crawls closer to Hisoka. He rests on Hisoka's sturdy arm, leaning against him and dragging the blanket with. He flips through the pages, caressing each page with care and making sure Hisoka sees. First, early drawings of Meteor City and the birds perched on buildings. Further in, drawings of the fields from far away appear, and scribbles of Killua. Then, the field. A plain sea of grass, a bundle of trees now and then, and quaint fish swimming around in small ponds. Even places Hisoka's never seen, making him wonder what could really be out there. Gon passes the entire book to Hisoka, snuggling up in his warmth with hazy eyes trying to keep attention to the television. Hisoka flips through the rest on his own. The drawings get even more detailed with every single flip, turning to daunting deer and the wood thrushes from today. The next page catches his eye. 

A lone figure, sitting in the middle of the page. Arms in pockets, leaning against a motorcycle. His legs are crossed, looking to the right. Around him, a straight road surrounded with long, wispy grass. _It's me._ He turns his head, about to ask a question to the boy leaning against him, but he's already asleep. His eyes are shut, long dark lashes fluttering. His chest slowly rises and falls, like waves in the vast ocean. The rain outside has yet to give up, so Hisoka closes the book and rests it on the coffee table. He pulls the blanket up, and over the two of them. Gon smells sweet, like fresh apples and aqua, he runs a gentle claw through his hair and tucks it behind his ear. Hisoka leans back, closing his eyes.

The handle jiggles, Illumi coming back with an umbrella under his arm. He drops it in the holder, taking his jacket off and hanging it up. The television's still on, a laugh track playing. 

_The fuck..?_

He notices two heads on the couch, one familiar with crimson hair. He pads down, a little curious. 

_Oh, Kil's friend._

Illumi reaches for the remote, turning the show off. He adjusts the blanket falling between the two, tucking in his roommate and the unfamiliar. He squints his dark eyes at the two, and he's honestly a little dumbfounded, but not surprised. _Hisoka's never had any true attraction to another, just raw lust. On the other hand, this kid's never had any attraction at all, completely devoid of any non-platonic affection._ He can't help but smile at the two.

_These idiots.._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extra: illumi comes home and draws dicks on their faces and hisoka fucking murders him.
> 
> As I said before, abilities are mostly genetic. Silva is a seer/concealer, and Kikyo is a charm writer. It's by chance that some people will have little bits of both abilities, hence Illumi's insight into their thoughts.  
> edit;  
> i have the sudden urge to ditch this fic too and make a spirited away-type hisogon fic ugghhhh  
> edit #2;  
> OKAY BUT WHAT ABOUT ONE WHERE HISO IS A FIREBENDER AND GONS AN EARTHBENDER AND THEY SLOWLY FALL IN LOVE WHILE THE WAR GOES ON AND WHEN ITS FINISHED THEY FINALLY GET MARRIED GUYS


	11. Tantalizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go awry.

Hazy hazels slowly open, the pale, familiar warmth long gone. Birds chirp past the glass windows, a quiet clattering from behind him. It isn't Hisoka. Gon peeks from over the couch, Illumi readying a cup of coffee for himself. He doesn't have to turn to notice the boy watching.

"Hm. You're awake. Hisoka's already out on.. errands." Gon recognizes Illumi, "We've met, I'm sure. One of Killua's friends. Speaking of, wouldn't your shop be open around this time?"

_Shit. He's right._

Gon quickly gathers his things, shoving them into his bag before running out the door. The black-eyed other just watches, huffing before taking a sip of coffee.

"Poor kid."

Gon's been in this section of the city, often enough to remember a good path back to _'Lucid Ink.'_ The morning air's sharp, bracing like a splash of cold water to the face. It's still a bit of distance from his shop, deciding to take an easier detour. Though it's a little unfamiliar to Gon, it's the fastest way compared to the usual route. Shadier things happen here, but it doesn't scare him. He _knows_ he's untouchable, tell, his ability. It's like a maze, twists and turns every step.

He makes a wrong turn, but it's hard to tell with the looming buildings, shrouding the lesser streets in darkness. Gon only turns around, but something grabs him by the back of the collar. He's tugged, _rough_ , a dry hand clasping over his eyes. Of course, there's no need for the mouth. He can't make a sound anyways. Something slams on top of his nose and mouth, forced to breathe in some sort of sleeping gas. His tense muscles relax, rendering him a limp toy.

Only a few yards away, Killua anxiously taps on the counter, his pale claws clicking against the hard marble. Pale cobalt eyes are glued to the windows, Gon nowhere in sight. Instead, another recognizable face. _Hisoka._ He's calm as ever, half lidded eyes as usual. A buzz rings in his pocket, from his boss.

_'Ten minutes. You know where.'_

It was usual for him to make close calls. The magician only shrugs it off, eyes turning to Killua.

"I assume you know what I'm here for." The other boy's face morphs into confusion, mixed with a hint of frustration.

"What did you do?!" He stands up, knocking the stool to the floor and half crawling onto the scanning table. Kil grips Hisoka's collar, _hard._

"Pardon..?" Hisoka's thin brows knit close, the corners of his lips turning down, "Hasn't he returned?" The smaller assassins teeth grit, his knuckles turning paler than his snowy skin.

"DON'T PULL THAT BULLSHIT WITH ME!" He's mere moments away from digging a fist into the clown's seeming facade. Killua soon realizes, it isn't Hisoka. He hesitantly lets go of the now-crumpled collar, easing off of the countertop. He can only mutter a small "Sorry." but it's still acceptable.

"It's alright. We have a serious topic at hand." Hisoka's a little panicked, very unusual. "Has he contacted you so far?" Kil shakes his head.

"Last thing he sent was about going to the Outskirts with you."

"Interesting. May I enter?" He points to the door behind Killua, who opens immediately. "Thank you."

Gon's brushes are in a neat array, black ink beside a stack of what seems to be blessed paper. The magician kneels down at the kotatsu, placing a sharp claw onto a brush. _Nothing._ He tries the rest, no luck of recalling any memories close enough to the very recent incident. Hisoka's attention runs back to the text he received just moments ago, something lighting up behind his eyes.

"..Pardon me. I have somewhere to be. I'll be back, once matters are dealt with." He swiftly exits the room. making a sharp turn towards the door.

"Wait, where the hell are you going?"

Hisoka doesn't even turn a head, much less bother to even listen. Killua can only watch, with a "what the fuck just happened" expression written all over his face.

Sharp heels occasionally click on the cement sides, washing from shadow to shadow. His usual attire blows behind, a formal coat over broad shoulders and a loose dress shirt. Hisoka nears a familiar area, almost a home. Just as developed, but not quite known. An old university, repurposed for matters beyond the league. It's usually empty, and today is no different. Only a steady of, maybe, two others, though they're just as closely knit as Hisoka is to their boss. He materializes, stepping out of the looming dark. The doors open with a slow creak, like music to his ears. The lights are off, except for the lobby. He's sitting on a couch, long legs resting on the cushions with a book propped in his hand. Dark eyes wander up to the goldens, a soft, yet coy smile like a trap forming across his face. Dim rays shine from the curtained windows, turning his eyes a brazen sunset.

"Hisoka."

"Chrollo."

The black-eyed man pouted, looking up from the book with puppy-dog eyes,

"Don't look at me like _that_. So spiteful." He mutters, under his breath. "Anyways, I have something to show you."

"Make it quick, I'm on a tight schedule at the moment."

The book disappears in a flash of dust, Chrollo getting up and striding through the extensive halls and into a dark room. It's loud with wheezing, labored breathing, but dark. Chrollo puts a hand on the wall, and the lights flicker on. _Gon._ Hisoka's face stiffens at the sight, the boy slouched over with hands bound behind himself. He's against the left wall, a rag covering his eyes. Hisoka can only feel a sliver of relief, knowing the boy can't see him there. Gon squirms a little, the bright lights stinging his sore eyes. He's _patterned_ with bruises and deep cuts, bleeding out through his clothing. He shrivels up like plastic over flame, bracing himself for the awaited impact. There are faint traces of fresh blood on the tile around Gon.

"Gorgeous, am I wrong?" Chrollo's pleased with the sight, crossing his arms and smiling. "Such soft skin, _tantalizing._ Yet, a murderer." Gon stiffens at the word, tears staining the cloth over his eyes. He frantically shakes his head,

_No, no, no.. Please...._

Hisoka manages a convincing smirk, eyes narrowing with false predatory intent to please his superior.

"Just your type, too. What a coincidence." He leans in to the other man, "I hope you understand what we plan on doing. He has links. And, well, maybe.." Chrollo looks back at Gon, still shriveled up against the wall, " _other_ things." He slowly closes in on Gon, bending down and lifting his chin. 

"I wonder what your parents would think." He mutters close to his ear, before roughly throwing him down. Chrollo delivers a swift kick, straight into Gon's stomach and forcing him to cough out more blood. He goes back to Hisoka, and shuts the lights off, closing the door and leaving Gon to rest in the dark. They walk back in silence, but Hisoka's upperclassman already notices something. 

"You've been quieter than usual." They reach the lobby. "Is something the matter..? I thought you'd like a little treat." He pulls that despicable beam again, the last straw. Hisoka's body moves without command, his arm wrapped in dark and spinning into a blade well capable of splitting even diamond. He pierces only air at his side, quick as a bolt. Chrollo only manages to block at the last moment, so much as a papercut wiping from his front cheek to the side of his face. A golden rod twists and forms, and clashes against Hisoka's blade, but it sends Chrollo flying into the opposite wall.

" **Let the boy go.** " Chrollo stifles a laugh, only minimally covering his mouth.

"Growing soft, are we? _That just makes me want him even more._" He growls, his body engulfing and burning itself in pure, glowing light, his staff spinning into a spear. Hisoka's eyes turn a pure black, hair exploding into white with long, tree-like horns branching out. A wolf's skull twists into shape in front of his face, and dark claws fly in replacement to his shapely hands. Two scythes materialize into both hands. On the other side of the room, an eye forms onto Chrollo's forehead, wings exploding out from his back in a grand, showy manner which sends feathers swarming the room. "Let this be a lasting lesson," Lucilfer smirks, both of them fully prepared to let blood run,

" _ **Never** _bite the hand that feeds you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling a little out of it, but we're nearing the final chapter! The fight will take a little longer due to the fact that fights are hard as shit to write and that I'm in a creative slump.


	12. Devil and Deity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka and Chrollo fight one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stars will mark the beginning of the fight and the end.  
> TW; gore, violence

The head of Meteor City's deep. A title so loathed, others aimed to kill for it. Chrollo Lucilfer being one, a daring face who managed to kill the past head, immediately owning the title. Hisoka had always been wary of his power, having seen so many times and being one of the few to survive. He didn't _dare_ fight him, never quite seeing him even close to his fullest. Like himself, Chrollo's abilities had mutated by shocking extent, making him able to pass the ninth level of power. They seemed to be like brothers, sharing the one thing that might've even defined them to the fullest.

***

Hisoka disappears in a flash upwards, blending in with the dark shadows in the very upper corners of the room. Chrollo only waits, all eyes but the biggest closed. It's quiet, but the tensity of the room makes up. Something flies out, millimetres from his neck. Chrollo's able to block it with his spear, the sound loud and echoing. Hisoka's blade, sparking against the tough gold. A claw shies out of the shadow, gaining steady grip of the staff, but Chrollo pulls back, sending Hisoka out of the dark and soaring into the wall. It cracks like glass, specks of dust and evidence of age running out. The deity wastes no time, launching himself from the parallel wall with spear steady in hand.

Hisoka quickly pulls himself out, jumping to the side and landing a solid slice to Chrollo's hip. Surely, blood flies and the eye winces, but it's no help. The flesh quickly pulsates and squirms, forming back with an even stronger layer of skin in protection. The brightness slowly comes back into place.

_Shit.._

A thin grin pulls out of Chrollo, followed with a sigh.

" _The Grim Reaper_ , hm?" He watches Hisoka jump wall to wall, finally getting fair distance from Chrollo. "Haaah.. I'm excited, honestly. But this is far from a match." He takes off to Hisoka, wings propelling like jets and reaching breakneck speeds. The Reaper can only duck, bending back and able to dodge the most of Chrollo's weapon. A deep cut cries on his cheek, a slit going right through to the mouth and through a gap in the skull. He reaches up, grabbing Chrollo's ankle and slamming him into the ground. The hard tile crumbles like a dry sandcastle, sending Chrollo deep into the ground. He calls out.

" _Lovely._ " He blasts from deep below, surging up and swinging a kick at Hisoka's chest. It's a solid hit, heavy and destructive. Grim's able to cross his arms, protecting his organs from the hit, but Chrollo's already behind him. A heavy punch to his back, he can only block again, kicking at Chrollo from under. It hits, surely, and something cracks. It doesn't seem to be Chrollo, himself, but some sort of armor.

"You may be able to take," His voice hums with fascination, "Possibly even destroy, but I have the ability to _create_." The ground shakes, a sapling- no- a tree surging out from the cracked tile. It shoots up like a bullet, creating a deep scar into Hisoka's arm. The Reaper flies upwards, but lands with forced ease disappears once again, into the dark. Chrollo's voice echoes like a thousand screams.

" ~~I created you. I _made_ who you are now. And you think to break me?~~" He lets out a chuckle. His eye surveys the surrounding room, taking playful guesses on where Hisoka appears next. For once, the Reaper smiles.

The ceiling shakes, sediment raining down in heavy demand. Something comes cracking down, faster than sound itself. It goes head-on, and something shatters. A claw, destroying the very armor on Chrollo's face and leaving a surprised eye staring at the wolf's skull.

" _You never created me. Rather? Brought me out._ " He huffs heavily, " _I have little to be thankful for, and in the end? **You just held me back**._" Hisoka digs a sharp heel into his shoulder, piercing the light armor and exposing yet another patch of skin. Of course, the armor will repair itself, but over time. Chrollo shakes Hisoka off, delivering a blow to his open body and through the wall. He's in open air. Quickly, dissolving himself into shadow as Chrollo follows suit and dives into open air. Unfortunately, a heavy advantage.

He looks around frantically, outdoors meaning more shadows to blend into. It's absolutely still, only the slight tumble of dead leaves and small animals scurrying about. They're in the courtyard, a ruined statue of ten knights, all with swords touching and pointing upwards. Chrollo flies up higher, to gain a better view of the land. A grave mistake. A flock of birds fly, heading south. Hisoka emerges from their shadows, swinging his scythe and shattering yet another section of Chrollo's armor. It comes dangerously close to his neck, to the collarbone at most. This sends both of them plummeting to the ground, still flying through the air.

_Why am I doing this..? Just for a kid?_

His face turns to mild shock,

_No.. He's **more**._

Chrollo's at huge disadvantage, unable to use his spear from such close quarters. Hisoka discards his scythe, drawing a claw back and fully prepared to strike. It launches forwards, tunneling into the shattered mask. Blood flies in deadly amounts, having driven through Chrollo's eye and deep within his head. It's a limp body, now, wings turning to shards and quickly disintegrating. The armor too, revealing the deity's body just like a rag. Something pierces Hisoka's chest.

Stone blades skewer through Chrollo's stomach, _the statue._ They even reach Hisoka, one in particular going halfway through his body. He pulls himself off, and drops from the statue. The numen now reduced to a pincushion, but that isn't the very of Hisoka's priorities.

_Gon._

***

He stumbles back into the building, bloodied and hasty. The Reaper runs through a familiar hall, finally reaching and running to Gon's shriveled body. 

"Gon.." Hisoka heavily growls, bending down and almost on top of the boy. He unties his hands, practically ripping the chain off. The writer quickly removes his blindfold, to reveal someone who definitely was _not_ the man he expected. The wolf skull turns to dust, revealing Hisoka, on the doorstep of death. There's a deep cut into his cheek, revealing bone and flesh. His eyes are completely jet-black, his hair messy and white, unlike the red Gon grew to love. Hisoka's colored claws were now nothing more than instruments of death, each finger now a blade in itself. Long, beautiful horns emerged from the white hair, this was _no_ human.

Hisoka's eyes faded back to yellow and white, instilling a little ease into the teen below him, both on the ground and backed up to a wall. Gon's shaky, frail hands tortured by pain, reach up to his horns. They feel _safe_ , his fingers bumping over each crevice and groove. He moves lower, running a small hand through Hisoka's silver locks that fall over his face. Gon tucks the hair back, revealing a demon who couldn't bring to look Gon in the eye. He cups a hand to the side of Hisoka's face, wiping away leaked blood.

"I'm.. so sorry..." His lemons look into Gon's heavy hazels, brows knitting into a furrow and pulling back. "Forget you ever saw me." Gon grabs his claw, cutting into his hand, but he couldn't give less of a damn right now. He pulls Hisoka closer, and their lips finally touch. The bittersweet of blood and torment mixing into sugar and amour. It's gentle, soft, never so bracing. Hisoka's eyes close slowly, and it feels like forever before he pulls back. He traces Gon's face with the back of his hand, careful not to let another bit of blood even drop. 

"Morow... You asked the day we met, my full name." He murmurs. The sound like sweet candied apples, a touch of sour engulfed in caramel. Gon gently smiles, his lashes fluttering. His voice comes out, quiet as a mouse and weak.

" _Hi..soka... Mor~ow._ "

It rolls in Gon's mouth nicely, leaving a sugary sensation. He pulls Hisoka in again, the kiss more longing and hungry than the last. Hisoka pushes back, pressing Gon against the wall. He slips a long tongue in, leaving the smaller one with big eyes. Gon brings his hands to both sides of Hisoka's face, pulling him away. The Reaper drops, his energy entirely depleted. He snuggles a bloody face into Gon's lap, but he doesn't mind a single bit. Gon plays with his hair, like silver-spun thread. His dark-iron horns glistening in the dim rays of light coming from the boarded windows. Gon's bottom lip quivers, bringing the most of his energy into the last word. Hisoka brings a fatigued smile to his own face, the words loving and saccharine to his ears.

" _I.. l-lo~ve.. you._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh this is almost the enddd,, I may or may not write one more chapter.


End file.
